Page 37 of Kraved By Krampus

Liar. The nearest retreat center is two hours away.

“What a lovely surprise.” I step back, gesturing her inside. “Please, come in.”

Her frost-blue eyes scan the entry hall, lingering on the carved details in the woodwork. “What a... unique property. I had no idea there were such historic homes in this area.”

I glare at the coat rack when it twitches forward, ready to take her coat.

“It belongs to a friend.” I keep my voice carefully neutral. “I’m using it as a writing retreat to finish the holiday novel.”

“Ah yes, your little Christmas romance.” She removes her jacket with precise movements. “That’s actually why I’m here. The marketing team has some concerns about the direction of your recent chapters.”

Of course they do.My pulse quickens. How much does she know?

The house creaks ominously. I clear my throat to cover the sound.

“Would you like some tea? We can discuss it in the kitchen.”

Victoria’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “That would be lovely, dear. Lead the way.”

As we walk down the hall, I silently pray Krampus stays in his study. The last thing I need is for these two worlds to collide.

The kitchen feels colder than usual as I busy myself with the kettle. Victoria perches at the island, spreading papers across the granite surface with military precision. Her manicured fingers smooth each page into perfect alignment, the silver rings on her fingers catching the light.

Don’t fidget. Don’t let her see you sweat.

“Your early chapters were delightful.” She taps her frost-covered pen against the stack. “But these recent submissions... they’re rather dark for your brand, don’t you think?” The temperature seems to drop another degree with each tap of her pen.

I focus on measuring loose tea into the infuser, grateful for the familiar ritual to steady my hands. “I thought adding some complexity would give the story more depth.” The aromatic blend of Earl Grey fills my nose, grounding me in the moment.

“Depth isn’t what your readers want, darling. They expect wholesome holiday magic, not...” She pauses delicately, her voice dripping with disapproval. “Whatever this is.” The last words fall like icicles.

The kettle’s piercing cry offers a welcome interruption, letting me avoid her gaze. As I tip the pot, vapor swirls upward, creating a misty barrier while the hot water sets the tea leaves twirling.

“I have a solution.” Paper rustles behind me. “A small contract addendum. Just to ensure we maintain the proper tone moving forward.”

My hands shake slightly as I set her cup down, the fine china rattling against the saucer. “I already have a contract.”

“Consider this an enhancement.” She slides a document toward me, her silver rings gleaming against the stark white paper. “It simply specifies certain content guidelines. Dark entities, explicit scenes, supernatural elements—all strictly forbidden.” Each word falls with precise, measured control.

The temperature plummets. Frost creeps across the windows in delicate, branching patterns. The tea’s steam dissipates instantly in the frigid air.

Magnus, please. Not now.I silently plead with the cabin, knowing its protective nature often mirrors my distress. Thankfully, I feel the temperature go back to a comfortable level.

“I need time to review it.” I wrap my hands around my cup, seeking warmth through the porcelain, trying to ground myself in its solid presence.

“Oh, there’s no need for that.” Victoria produces her signature pen with practiced elegance, its crystalline surfacecatching the light in rainbow fractals. “It’s quite straightforward. We simply want to protect your brand—and your readers.” Her smile remains fixed, a perfect mask of professional concern.

The pen feels like ice when she places it in my hand. My fingers go numb, and a chill races up my arm straight to my chest. The crystalline surface seems to pulse with an inner light that makes my stomach turn.

“I really should have my lawyer—”

“Darling.” Her smile turns sharp, like broken glass catching sunlight. “Need I remind you of your deadline? The marketing commitments? The book tour?” She leans forward, voice honeyed with practiced concern, each word falling like snowflakes against my skin. The temperature in the room drops another degree.

The shadows in the corner seem to writhe. A familiar warmth brushes against my consciousness—Krampus, sensing my distress.

No. Stay away. I can handle this.

Victoria’s pen hovers over the signature line, waiting. The contract paper seems to glow with an unnatural light.

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